Cursefell (12 page)

     The air was stale.  As if it had not circulated in awhile.  I could imagine this same air as the one lingering witness to that night Isabel had been an intruder.  It may well have been, but it hung listless with bittersweet scents and laced with lemony chemicals as well.  The brothers had come here and cleaned up the broken glass and the shattered plates to keep appearances normal to unwelcome eyes.  I noticed the new dishes and the broken chair they had replaced.  They must have sprayed something to neutralize the ever present bloom of incense as well, for I did not smell it now.  I was surprised at how much I missed it.
     Stale, scrubbed, antiseptic, and another smell assailed me.  Inhaling as deeply as I could, that elusive vapor escaped identification.  My tongue darted out as Medusa's tongue had done in the dream.  I don't know why I did it, but it worked.  Filtering the scents around me, tasting them in some fashion until I had it.  It tasted of metal, sharp and tangy, as it lay on my tongue.  Isabel grabbed me as I suddenly stumbled.  Thankfully she had been close behind.
     The scent or taste or whatever it was brought back vivid reminders of that night.  Isabel shouting too late for her cat's-paw to stop the knife from stabbing my mother.  I had smelled it then.  That metallic smell was the remnant from her wounding.  I was tasting the scent of her blood.
     "I have to sit down," I said to no one in particular, while forgetting to speak quietly.
     They guided me to the couch in my living room.  It was soft and sunken in from years of use.  I found it comforting.
     "Sorry.  It was too much," I told them.  "I'm...it was...I will be alright.  Just give me a minute."
     "Isabel, check upstairs for any unwanted guests.  I will stay with Thera."
     She gave my arm a tight little squeeze before heading upstairs.  Any surprise we might have had was already lost if anyone was laying in wait for us.  Isabel did not try to hide her presence anymore.  Neither did Galead as he fetched some water.  I drank it greedily.  Only a small amount dribbled down my chin.
     "Thanks."
     "More?"
     "No.  I'm good." He didn't look like he believed me.  "I was just remembering that night.  My mom."
     He did not need to know about the new ability to taste the air.  It was bad enough it was a reminder to me that I was slowly becoming some sort of creature.  That I was not normal.  I didn't want him to be reminded too.
     "The two men with Isabel.  Did I...what happened to them?" it was the first time I forced myself to face what had been done to them.
     "Tristan and I took care of them."
     His answer was terse.  I didn't want to push him, but I was responsible for what had happened to them.  I had to know the truth.
     "Did I kill them?"
     "No," he snapped, regretted it, and took hold of my hand.  "No.  You turned them, accidentally I remind you, to stone.  That in itself is not death.  They were still alive."
     "How is that possible?" even though they had hurt my mother I hoped that it was possible.  Didn't I? 
     "Medusa was cursed with the power to turn her victims to stone.  They can't move or see, but they live in a sort of suspended state.  Living statues with nothing save their own thoughts for company for all eternity."
     "So if this thing happens again, if I lose control, I don't kill with a look?"
     "That depends on your notion of death.  Is the slow erosion of the mind trapped within a stone body life?  How long will it take for sanity to slip into madness when you live wholly cut off, alone, and unable to reach out to another?"
     I was shifting uncomfortably with the voiceless suffering my thoughts were conjuring.  Somewhere, very faintly though, another voice was whispering.  I would not listen, I would not.
     "Sometimes," he said, as if sensing the turmoil I was experiencing, "whether some condition renders them brittle enough so a strong wind will blow them into piles of dust or through acts of mercy or malice, the statue is broken.  Then it ends.  Do not take this lightly, Thera.  There are those sworn to destroy each statue resulting from the curse to protect their secrets.  That includes the Medusa bloodline and its existence."
     "Either way, then, I am responsible." He didn't answer, which of course was an answer in itself.
     "It is the curse that is responsible," Isabel said, returning from scouting the upstairs.  "It is your nature now to do these things, it's true.  But you can use it how you want if you learn to control it."
     "How?" I barely kept the desire from my voice.  I was on the verge of desperation.  There was only one person in the world I wished such reckless harm to.  That person was nothing but a shadowy figure for now, but one day I would find the person responsible for my father's death and demand that they pay.
     "I will teach you when we get back to his place," she promised.  "In exchange for a few concessions."
     Galead looked from Isabel to me.  He reluctantly nodded his agreement.
     "Great.  The upstairs is clear by the way.  Nothing waiting for us up there."
     "What do you need?" he asked me.
     I rambled off the description.
     "Oh, my art sculpture project too."
     Isabel threw up her hands when Galead fixed those eyes of his on her.  He didn't need to say a thing, just give her a stern look, until she caved.
     "Fine.  Where are they Thera?"
     "My mom said the book was in her closet.  And the sculpture is in a box next to my bed.  I'll help."
     "I think Isabel has got this.  Right?"
     Isabel gave me a smile.
     "Yeah.  No problem.  I'll take care of it." She hurried up the stairs for a second time, but not before sticking out her tongue at Galead.
     When she disappeared down the upstairs hallway, Galead sat down beside me.
     "Don't trust her too much.  Remember, she tried to kidnap you.  She is the reason your mother is hurt."
     "I know.  But her reason makes sense.  And she has answers I need, answers she is willing to give." I forestalled whatever he was about to say when I laid my hand against his chest.  "I need to think.  I haven't decided anything yet.  Just give me some time, okay?"
     "You will have time.  And I know you will make your own decision," he paused before nudging me.  "Why did you bring her with us anyway?"
     "I thought we needed a chaperone," I joked.
     He laughed.  So did I.  It was good to hear him laugh, really laugh.  I don't think I had ever heard it before.  The sound was somehow musical.
     "Actually, I needed to tell myself I wasn't the one holding her in that cell.  I needed to prove it to myself.  Empathy, humanity, whatever it was I had before all this craziness happened had to still be a part of me.  I don't ever want to have that taken from me just because my family tree is rooted in monstrous soil." Isabel's feet could be heard padding down the stairs.  "Besides, I knew it would get under your skin.  Serves you right for being such a jerk this morning."
     He smiled.  It was warm and bright and charming.
     Why am I so comfortable with you, even though I do not know you, I desired to ask him.  It was too bad the comfort was tainted by distrust for the very same reason.
     Isabel rejoined us before he could respond to the calling out his behavior.  She put the box holding my sculpture on the floor beside the couch, dropped the book on a small side table that rocked with its weight.  It looked old.  A severely faded symbol, some encircled shape I couldn't make out, had been etched on the cover.  But Isabel drew my attention away.  She prodded the box with a foot.
     "So, the descendant of the world's most prolific, albeit secret, statue maker enjoys art and sculpting.  Who would have guessed, right?  I can imagine you would be a real natural at it.  Do you mind if I take a little look-see?"
     Without waiting for an answer, Isabel dug into the box.  I had originally been working on a steampunk rendition of a cavalier, but once the attack that had almost drowned me and taken my life happened it had inspired me to sculpt what I had seen.  The mermaid had become something of an obsession I guess.  Although not perfect, it held as close a resemblance as I could make, with a bit of artistic embellishment added in.
     "What is this?" Isabel lifted the hardened clay figure away from its cardboard home.
     The figure was moderately sized for a class sculpture project.  The long powerful arms ended in web spaced fingers.  The overly long nails curled into vicious claws.  Its body arched as it reached skyward, giving it an unusual angle, muscles stretched tautly over its shoulders.  The torso blended into a whirling spout of water that formed a puddle as the base.  Isabel took a good look at the head, turning it to all angles as she studied it.  The expressionless, enormous eyes and the snarling ferocity of a fish like mouth with row upon row of tiny pointed teeth drew her scrutiny.
     Isabel looked from the sculpture to me and back to the sculpture again.  She took her time, grinding her teeth, which were not tiny or pointed, together.  It wasn't my best work, but I still liked what it had turned out to be.
     "Oh come on!" she exclaimed.

CURSEFELL

CHAPTER TWELVE

     Inhale.  Hold.  Exhale.  Release.  The way father had taught me.
     The brightly dyed feathers adorning the shaft brushed my arm just above the wrist as it was propelled from the bow.  The arrow sheared the air as it sped towards the old coffee can Galead had set up as our target.  The diamond leafed metal tip punched into the tin, sending both arrow and can spinning.  It left only the stump and Galead's own arrow sticking out from it, signaling another win in my column.
     "Go again?  First to ten?" I teased.
     "I don't think my pride can take anymore.  You've only missed once so far."
     I shrugged.  "Suit yourself Maid Marion."
     "You have some skill with the bow." I snorted at the compliment.  I had already hit the mark four of five times.  He had only hit it three times.
     "My dad taught me when I was young.  We went camping sometimes.  Just me and him.  We would eat only what we caught or go hungry," I laughed.  "My mom would hide snacks in my bag just in case though."
     "I bet you didn't need the snacks." He smirked when he said it.
     "A few times, but not often.  My dad always said I was a natural."
     Galead set his own bow aside.  I guess beating him was show enough for his ego.  He replaced the weapon I knew with one I wasn't familiar with.  I don't know why it was called a short sword.  Looking at it, the blade seemed plenty long enough to me.
     "Did your father teach you close combat techniques?"
     "No," I told him, eyeing the sword warily.
     "Time to learn then."
     Which is what I should have been doing for school.  Even though I was going to miss the remaining day before Winter Break, and who could blame me with everything that had happened, I did plan on going back and did not want to fall too far behind.  I missed it, the normalcy and routine, which surprised me.  And I missed my friends, which didn't.  So I would go back.  At least until I figured out what to do.
     I had only been allowed two hours to sit with my mother, watching her sleep, her body recovering.  After that Galead had shoved the bow into my hand and said that training was as important as anything else.  So I had followed him out back to the edge of the dark forest ringing their property.
     The thought of archery had been exciting.  The feel of the curved bow was familiar, an old friend returned after a long absence.  It had been a few years since I had notched an arrow.  Too many other new things to experience had pushed my passion for it aside.  I was rusty on that first shot, but after that it had been like riding a bike and it all came back to me.  The sword, however, was a stranger.  I already felt the scrapes and bruises forming even though we had yet to begin.
     "Your father should have taught you this.  It can help protect you in the right situation."
     "Yeah, well, I guess he assumed the whole Medusa turning people to stone thing would be defense enough."
     Galead tested his blade's balance.  He took several protective swings and thrust the pointy end into the wind.  I tried to mimic the movements.  It was not good.
     "Is this a big thing in Ireland?"
     "What?"
     "Sword fighting and stuff?  You know, there's this thing, LARPing, in the States.  It's kind of popular.  But they don't use real swords."
     It was his turn to snort derisively.
     "I wouldn't call these real swords.  They're blunted, no edge," he said.  "But no, it's mostly a lost art in Eire, although it does survive in small pockets of the isle."
     "Did your father teach you all this?"
     "No." He shook that shock of coppery hair.  "He was just a farmer.  His weapons were seeds and earth."
     Interesting.  I wanted to keep him talking.  Get him used to answering questions and maybe he would let something slip.
     "Why did he send you here, to the States?"
     "He didn't.  I was very young when I left our home." Galead looked skyward, eyes going distant, maybe looking to the clouds for the pattern to his story, before continuing to speak.  "The sun was shinning and it was warm that last morning, even so early in the day.  He bent over a patch of churned earth, seeds safely tucked in a pouch beside him.  His knees were caked by muddy grime, hands stained from years working the land.  I knew the dirt would be shoved deep under his fingernails, as it always seemed to be.  We looked at each other.  We had said our words the night before, all that needed saying at least.  With a nod from him, and a tilt from me, I turned my back on our home.  That was the last I've seen of my Da."
     "That's so sad," I said, imagining the heartache it must have brought them both.
     "No, it wasn't.  He lived his life as he wanted.  He wished to see me live mine as I would.  He was happy and he wanted the same for me, even if he once thought it would be to follow the path he had laid out for me," he said.
     "And your brothers too?" I was prodding.  This talk of fathers was turning me melancholy.  I didn't want to lose focus on him.
     "We look out for each other.  I'm sure my Da would be glad for it."
     "So how did you end up in Stonecrest of all places?" I asked.
     He gave me the are you serious look.  It took me a minute, which was longer than it should have, but I got it.
     "Oh.  For me?"
     Galead laughed.  It was coming easier to him, that mirth that had been used so sparingly when we first met.  It was good to see, despite the seriousness of my situation.  Although, thinking about it, that levity usually came at my expense.
     "Well for Medusa's bloodline at least," I corrected myself.
     "I think I will have to stick with your first answer," he said, looking for and locking onto my gaze with those pure blue eyes of his.  Why did they have to be so piercing?  I could feel the skin burning scarlet underneath its olive tint.
     "Stop trying to be charming."
     "You should talk to Tristan if you really want charming."
     "Oh, I think you have more than enough charm for me," I threw back, and immediately wanted to bury my head in the sand.  Stupid, I scolded myself.  This is what happens, Thera, when your wit is not half as fast as your mouth.  "I mean, I didn't mean, you know, me, you, that you're charming.  That's not what I mean either.  You are charming.  Just not charming me, if that makes sense."
     "Well enough, aye," he chuckled as I stood there in discomfort.
     "Can I take all that back?  Like, all of it?" I pleaded.
     "Ah well, there is more truth in stories told as fiction than a tale sold as fact." He raised his sword, grinning.
     "Yeah?  Well, what's your story then, Galead?" it was demanding, I know, but mostly to cover the embarrassment I felt at that moment.  Mostly.
     Galead raised the practice sword, a smirk annoyingly splayed across his face.  "Disarm me and I will answer your question."
     I charged the short distance separating us without waiting, hoping to catch him by surprise.  My sword was swinging in a wild back and forth arc the whole way.  Galead waiting until the last moment before deftly stepping aside.  A light slap from the flat of his blade had me rubbing the back pocket of my jeans.  It felt like a really big bee had given me a sting.  Guess it was a good thing I hadn't put my cell phone in its normal place.
     "Control your attack.  Hold everything under control if you want to defeat an opponent," he instructed.
     I ran at him again, stopping just before reaching him.  Lunging with the pointy end, he easily parried the thrust.  And suddenly I was falling forward to land on my face.
     "Balance is important too." Galead didn't even try to hide his laughter.  "Are you sure you were a gymnast?"
     I stood up slowly, seeking to put him off his guard.  My sword swung as hard as I could make it.  The blade he raised blocked it easily, his hand ensnaring my wrist.
     "Rage will unbalance you in a fight.  Control and balance are your best weapons if you want to survive."
     I would remember.  Not that I was planning on getting in a sword fight with anyone.  I would fare much better with a bow anyway.
     "Lets practice some basics before you end up stabbing yourself with a real blade."
     The next hour was spent in laborious practice.  By the time we finished my arms were screaming for mercy and all I wanted to do was collapse in my bed.  Galead sent me back to the cabin, not to rest of course because that would be too easy, but to train with Isabel.
     "Ah, sorry," I said, finding Isabel on the back deck.
     "Done playing with those silly swords already?" she asked.
     "Yes." I tried to avert my gaze, but it kept sliding back to her.
  It wasn't everyday that one finds a mermaid sunning herself in a plastic pool on a deck, so I excused myself for gawking.  Her tail glittered wherever the sun caught its scales as it hung over the side, almost crushing the plastic edge.  I couldn't help but notice her skin either.  It had regained its healthy shine the days in the cell had diminished.
     "I guess mermaids really do swim like that," I sputtered.
     "Well we don't exactly have shopping malls where we live.  It would be pretty hard to replace anything we ruin.  Why waste a good outfit when I change?"
     Heaving her body upright, the light caught her scales to create a prism effect of rainbow colored flashes.  The damp hair was light instead of heavy.  It fanned out as if it floated atop a rippling wave.  No wonder sailors fell in love with them from the deck of their wooden ships.  As I mused on that, Isabel rippled before my very eyes for what must have been mere seconds.  She shimmered from her head down to her tail in a cascading light that transformed her into the guise of a human being once more.
     "Do you mind handing me that towel behind you?" she asked as casually as if this all was normal.  I suppose, for her, it was.
     This was going to take some getting used to.  I would add it to that particularly long list.
     "The brothers think they are funny.  The tubs inside are too small and they won't agree to let me take a dip in the ocean, so they bring this little pool out for the mermaid," she complained.  "Does that look long enough for me to you?"
     I shook my head negatively.
     "No it isn't.  Oh well." She slapped her hands together once she finished dressing.  "Let's start training you to control those lovely green eyes of yours.  I'll make sure you don't accidentally turn anyone to stone, Thera, including me."
     "You know, I'm pretty tired.  Can we do this later?"
     "Sure.  I didn't mean to interrupt your day.  You just run along now and I will get back to soaking my tail," she told me sarcastically.
     "I'm not getting a break am I?"
     "No."
     "We are going to train now."
     "Yes."
     "Okay," I sighed.
     "Okay.  Now watch this," she said, partially turning her back to me.
     Isabel opened her mouth just a fraction.  The soft sound of a song began to float between her pouty lips.  I couldn't make out the words to the sweet crooning tune.  So compelling was the sound, teasing promises happy and full of light, that I simply had to hear the words better or I would yearn for them unbearably for all my remaining days.  But Isabel shot out a rigid arm, blocking me from getting any closer.  A fight was being waged within me.  To hear her angelic voice clearer, the words she sang, or to obey this girl's command to stay.  It tugged one way and then the other as I stood there undecided.  A part of me, small at first but growing, made an effort to shove both warring halves into submission and break me free.
     Before any one side could claim the victory, the sound receded and Isabel stood with her ivory smile beaming incredibly bright.
     "What do you think?" she asked.
     "Was that the Song of the Siren from the legends?" I asked breathlessly.
     She nodded as a bright grin wide enough to eclipse the sky played across her features.
     "It was amazing.  I felt, I don't know, complete bliss."
     "Right?  That was why I stopped you from getting closer.  If I had projected it at you, if you had walked into the full enchantment of my voice, we might have lost you.  Gorgon or not, there is a chance I would have completely controlled you, or your mind would have been trapped in the dream the song creates."
     "I have never felt anything like that.  I don't think I would have cared either way as long as I felt the way it made me feel."
     "No doubt you wouldn't care.  At least until the moment you take the last gasp as you drown or wake up in an underwater grotto tethered in chains.  Then, well..." Her shoulders shrugged.  "Now let me show you something else.  Watch that mug on the rail.  And do not move this time.  Understand?"
     "Yes," I replied, eager to see what she would show me.  The white coffee cup sat perfectly balanced on the thin rail above the deck.
     Isabel audibly cracked the vertebrae in her neck, moving her head from side to side, shook out her long hair, hunching shoulders to bring her face directly level with her target.
     This time her mouth peeled back with a growl.  The sound was a garbled mess mixed with guttural words beautiful in their own dark way, even as they raised the hairs on my head.  The song promised not the bright future of its sister, but instilled heart breaking sorrow.  A hopeless day stretching into the brackish forever.  I saw the face of my father turning away just as the cup vibrated on its circular base.